That's My Story (And I'm Sticking to it)
by ThisIsTheDungeonThatNeverEnds
Summary: Gladiolus Amicitia, Prince's sworn Shield, bares many a proud scar earned in honorable battle in the name of the crown. Yeah, that's a load of crap. Here's how he REALLY got those scars.


**If this looks familiar, it has been previously posted to my AO3 account under the same name.**

* * *

When Gladio says "fight with a drunk guy who tried to get handsy with Noctis"

what he really means is "juggling knives to impress Ignis."

.

It happened in the staff kitchen at the Citadel. Ignis was so focused on getting the crust for his 6,438th attempt at those dumb Tenebrea pastries just right that he was oblivious to the shields attempts to flirt with him.

"He should just be grateful that you're going to all this effort and just be happy," Gladio said as he idly twirled a pairing knife between his fingers.

Ignis sighed. "If I can give Noctis the joy of a fond memory shared with Princess Luna, then the effort is well worth it."

Gladio rolled his eyes. "That's just like you, Iggy. Happily busting your ass for someone you don't care doesn't appreciate how amazing you are." He punctuated the last line with a flirtatious wink.

"I appreciate your attempt at flattery, Gladio, but at the moment I need to focus on measurements."

Gladio stopped talking, but could not abide being ignored for long. He eyed the row of knives on the magnetic wall strip and took down two large carving blades. THIS would get Iggy's attention he was sure. He flipped one up into the air and caught it flawlessly.

Ignis didn't even look up.

So he did it again, then again before soon he was juggling three sharpened kitchen knives.

Now Ignis had his back turned.

Gladio went on for almost a minute showing know signs of faltering, his dexterity and reflexes learned in years of training serving him well.

"Would you assist me for a moment, Gladio?"

"Sure thing," Gladio answered. But when he turned his head in Ignis' direction, he forgot in his eagerness that there was a knife in the air above his face, a knife that came down blade first and slashed across the left side of his face, from his forehead down across his eye and halfway down his cheek.

"FUCKING SHIT GOD DAMN MOTHER-"

Ignis spun around when he heard Gladio's sudden string of expletives. "GLADIO WHAT IN THE BLUE BLAZES WERE YOU DOING!?"

Gladio clutched his face, blood already dripping between his fingers. "Juggling knives to get your attention god DAMNIT!"

"More like being impatient and stupid," Ignis said while he rummaged through a drawer and produced several hand towels. "Move your hand." Gladio complied and let Ignis press the towels to his wound. "Had you waited until the pastries were in the oven you would have had my undivided attention," he said, his voice softer and more sympathetic this time.

Gladio laughed in spite of the pain shooting through his face. "I have your attention now, don't I?"

Ignis huffed. "Yes, as well as what's certain to be a gruesome scar to prove it."

Gladio wrapped the arm that wasn't covered in blood around Ignis' waist. "As long as I have you to kiss it better it's worth it." Gladio's face turned fine mild amusement to dread. "Just don't tell anyone about this. A shield is supposed to get his scars in defense of his king, not flirting with his boyfriend."

"My lips are sealed. We will devise a cover story to preserve the Amicitia honor."

And so was born the story of the night Gladio picked Noctis up from Prompto's house and the two were confronted by a drunk man who showed inappropriate interest in Noctis and drew a knife when he was turned down. Gladio courageously stepped between the prince and the blade, earning a scar of honor.

* * *

When Gladio says, "having my strength and worthiness tested by a demigod,"

what he really means is"using Cor's sword as an air guitar while drunk and alone in a caravan."

.

Gladio didn't want to admit to anyone else how much recent events had been weighing on his heart and mind. Insomnia had fallen, his father and King were dead, and he had failed his duty as Shield, allowing Ardyn to make fools of them all and Ravus to hurt Noctis. He needed time to quiet his mind, sharpen his senses, and strengthen his will if he was to continue to call himself any kind of servant to the crown.

Which is why, once they had the Regalia safely back in their possession and he was sure Ignis and Prompto could handle themselves in regards to Noct's safety, he separated himself from the group. Some time spent with Cor, someone who he could commiserate freely with, would be just the therapeutic diversion he needed to ensure that he was ready to face the road ahead.

But what Gladio had failed to take into account was the fact that where there was Cor, there was beer. And where there was beer there was a Shield of the King who knew not the meaning of the word "pacing."

Which is how on that night Gladio ended up mostly naked save for boxers and socks with the radio cranked loud enough to summon Bahumut, his Nth beer (he had lost count, really) in one hand and a microphone (okay, it was the hilt of Cor's sword, but really what did it matter?) in the other. Not that he was drunk...but he was, in fact, quite happily plastered. Perhaps had Cor not been on a cup noodle run he would have told Gladio to be careful, but as it stood, Gladio had been left to his own devices.

The song on the radio transitioned into a guitar riff, always Gladio's favorite part of any rock song. He set his now empty beer bottle on the nearest counter and held his sword as if it were a guitar. He moved with the music, only not so much in rhythm, head banging along without care for the deadly weapon he held dangerously close to his body.

One particularly strong surge forward and he was falling. He thinks his forehead may have colored with the edge of the counter top and maybe he fell on top of the sword, but it was a blur once he hit the ground.

...

Gladio groaned as his eyes slipped open against his will. The light was to bright and the drum solo in this song was to heavy. Before Gladio realized that the sound was not from the radio but in fact was the pounding of his own drunk and injured head, Cor spoke in a volume Gladio deemed much to loud (It was a normal inside voice)

"What in the actual hell were you even doing, Gladiolus? You damn near bleed to death."

Gladio hadn't the presence of mind to wonder how he had gotten to a bed, but he sat up in said bed and instantly felt searing pain in his chest and forehead. He cried out and slumped back down.

"On second thought, I don't want to know. Just sleep it off tonight so you can meet Noctis and the others in Lestalum tomorrow. Take that sword with you, I do t need it here as a reminder of my pupils stupidity"

Well shit, Gladio thought. How was he going to explain his injuries. It had to sound bad ass.

So somewhere in his alcohol and concision induced delirium, he dreamed up the epic tale of the Blademaster and his trials, a test of a true Shields worth. It was as good a story as any, he supposed. Defiantly better than the humiliating truth.


End file.
